


Draco in Lace

by TheGreenCloak



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco is a sarcastic fuck, Harry doesn't trust him, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Romance, and he dresses up as a girl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-28 08:33:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14445420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenCloak/pseuds/TheGreenCloak
Summary: Draco had tried everything - and when I say everything... - to fit in in the wizarding world, but when everything else failed, he had resorted to what one could only call a desperate disguise... that of a witch...





	1. Chapter 1

Lace had always been tricky for it was never quite sufficiently warm in winter nor quite flimsy enough in summer, yet here Draco Abraxas Malfoy was, dressed in a white lace dress, not, before you may jump to unjust conclusions, out of a voluntary urge to dress up in lace, but rather out of sheer necessity. You see, Draco had tried everything – and when I say everything…- to go through society as a man unrecognizable by society for his cruel past, every attempt, however, had been met by cold failure. Henceforth Draco had resorted to what one could call a most desperate disguise, namely that of a witch – yes you read that right, a witch…now stop your whistling, you perverts - .

He had bought bras and synthetic breasts, did something to his manhood which by many a wizard, he himself included, felt like sheer treason, had learned to walk on heels – which of course had not been exactly necessary, but if he were to be a witch, he might as well be a stylish one -, had thrown up a few glamours to soften the pointiness of his nose, slightly alter the shape of his eyes, make his lips slightly plumper, etc.

And so far, it had worked! All summer he had spent right in the public, attending public parties, shopping at public places, … all as Lady Diane Froid – shit name, he knows, but very effective when portraying a foreign lady-. He had even adopted a French accent, which was very popular in the upper circles of British wizarding society.

Attending Hogwarts however, would probably be even more difficult. He was standing on platform 9¾, dressed in a pretty white lace dress – which kept on crawling up his thighs, much to the delight of a few male 2nd years, the little prats – paired off with a nice pair of light pink pumps. His hair, reaching to his shoulders, was pushed backwards by a pink headband and all his schoolbooks and other necessities were stacked into his light pink bag, dangling from his shoulder – his mother loved pink alright! And maybe he did too…a little bit…. -.

He looked at all the other students who said goodbye to their parents and felt a slight feeling of guilt rising in his chest as the memory of his own mother rose in his mind. He had wished her goodbye at home for her presence could compromise him, his parents were supposed to be French after all, not fallen British nobility.

As he looked around he soon found the Golden Trio, standing in the midst of the masses, all laughing and joking, Draco could only barely restrain himself to not roll his eyes. In a rash act of what can only be described as foolishness he grabbed his bag by its side, knuckles tightening around the leather, and walked up to them only to hit Weasley against his shoulder with his own in a seemingly accidental way – accidental my arse -, the impact of which he had – unsurprisingly – miscalculated massively as it nearly threw him off his feet whilst Weasley – who apparently wasn’t the small boy of Draco’s memories anymore – did not move an inch, well except for the hand he reached out with to steady Draco – Diane.

“Oh quelle catastrophe, monsieur Weasley! Excusez-moi, monsieur, I’m afraid it is the heat, it seems to have clouded my vision,” Draco said, his eyes large, resembling those of a puppy – more like those of a cat – and his lips pulled up into an apologetic little smile. Weasley – being like every other man really, except for Draco himself of course *cough* *cough*, a complete and utter idiot – fell for it immediately.

“No problem, are you alright though, miss …” Weasley smiled at him, though Granger who stood right next to him did not look quite so pleased.

“Mademoiselle Froid, but please monsieur, appelle-moi Diane, pleased to make your acquaintance.” Draco held his hand out to Weasley, who immediately took it in his and pressed a soft kiss on it – great, he’d have to wash that later on…- .

“Mademoiselle Froid-“ Granger started, but Draco did not allow her to finish her sentence, he could not afford it to make anyone of the Golden Trio despise him – loathe as he was to admit to it - .

“Mademoiselle Granger! Quel admirateur I am of yours! I am a grand supporteur of your campaigne pour les elves. Most pleased to make your acquaintance.” Draco smiled broadly and kissed her on both cheeks – oh wonderful now he’d have to wash them with soap too…. – startling her out of her wits. When he pulled back he could see a bright red flush colouring Granger’s cheeks. And then there was only one person left to charm… Harry Potter stood next to Draco, a frown etched on his handsome face, his eyes transfixed on Draco though the latter tried to postpone their eyes meeting as long as possible. He knew that Potter would be the most troublesome one to convince of his persona for he knew him best, but he could not escape the acquaintance either and so he turned to Potter, smile at the ready.

“Bonjour, monsieur Potter, most obliged to make your acquaintance.” He even made a small reverence, but Potter did not fall for it… on the contrary.

“Mademoiselle Froid,” Potter said, his voice completely emotionless whilst his eyes raked over his disguise, nearly burning through the thin fabric of his dress – in a I-know-who-you-are-and-I-am-going-to-fucking-kill-you sort of way rather than a I-really-want-to-shag-you way – it made Draco uncomfortable, nearly made him turn back on his heel and go back home. But then he remembered the words of his father – one of his better quotes – ‘A Malfoy does not give up’, and though his father had done a whole lot of bad, it were those words that Draco hoped to live by till the rest of his days.

Henceforth he picked his easy smile back up and regarded Potter with the innocence of a young teenage witch – a sort of innocence he had practiced in the mirror several times -.

“Well it was lovely to meet you all,” he said with a slight giggle to his voice as he glanced in Weasley and Granger’s direction, “I’ll take my leave now, au revoir mes chers!” Granger, who was probably the most adept French speaker of the three chuckled softly at that. He gave them a last wave and then left for the carriage waiting behind them where Pansy was probably hogging an entire compartment for just the two of them – she could be such a darling… if she tried that is -.

He felt the gazes of the trio on his back as he left, but there was only one pair of eyes he felt on his head, burning through his hair, as if they meant to enter his skull…


	2. Chapter 2

Nothing, I repeat nothing, is worse than waking up with a bloody menace of a headache and a pair of silken stockings plastered against one’s face – well perhaps having to live with the continued contempt of every single witch and wizard in existence is, it’s all a matter of perspective really -. Pansy had woken him up with her boisterous laughter that morning because apparently he had ‘looked so ruddy funny, it should’ve been photographed and filed for posterity’ – the bloody cow –. Luckily being awakened – rather rudely if I may add – at such an ungodly hour – 7 in the morning for merlin’s sake! – also meant being able to take a long hot shower before any of the other girls could do so without having to put on his disguise.

After his shower, Draco dressed himself in the female variant of his old school uniform, grinning to himself as his hand caressed the green emblem on his chest – he refused to think of it as his ‘breast’ because the idea alone was yuck, obviously… -. It felt oddly satisfying, to see himself – more like herself – once again in full attire, he could barely believe how much it affected him. But then Pansy called for him to hurry up – Stop touching your boobs, Diane, I’m starving! – and he had to leave his reflection to itself. Pity, he would’ve loved to stare into his own eyes some more… - not his fault that they were so bloody brilliant alright? -.

They were descending the stairs to the Great Hall together, hand in hand, each trying to squeeze the other’s flesh to bits – because that’s what friends do you know… - when they bumped into the Golden Trio – because of course Lady Fortuna couldn’t give Draco a break, the ruddy twat -. Draco smiled at them, whilst his eyes tried their very best not to shoot them on sight.

“Mademoiselle Froid! What a pleasant surprise, would you perhaps like to join us for breakfast?” Weasley asked, a wide grin plastered on his face, one arm draped around Granger – despicable, ugh how he hated young love -.

“Vraiment monsieur, nothing could please me more,” Draco exclaimed – except maybe jumping into a water basin filled with murderous mutated piranha’s Austin Power style – “Quelle belle invitation, n’est pas, mon amie?” He send a warning glare to Pansy who correctly interpreted it as a don’t-say-a-bloody-word-just-smile sort of signal.

Draco could see Weasley’s gaze shift to Pansy, could see the hesitant flare spark up into his eyes and for a minute there it seemed that they wouldn’t have to spend breakfast in their company anymore. Draco smiled a little wider and tightened his hold on Pansy’s small little hand, who softly kicked Draco with her shoe and shook her head – they couldn’t afford to get on the trio’s wrong side, a confrontation would only make it worse -.

And then the moment passed.

“You two don’t mind sitting at the Gryffindor table just this once, do you?” Weasley asked in an airy sort of voice and the two ‘girls’ – excuse you, I am very much a boy you know – simply nodded before following the happy – despicable – couple into the great hall. Potter followed behind them, Draco could feel his stare on his neck which didn’t leave until they sat themselves down, Draco and Pansy on the one side, Granger and Weasley on the other. Potter remained standing beside the table as they all sat down as if he were contemplating which side would suit him best, before taking the seat next to Granger’s, opposite Draco.

Breakfast went… well it went as well as was to be expected – it was absolutely dreadful, for both parties really -. Weasley kept on talking with his mouth full – the complete and utter pig -, Pansy seemed to only encourage him more by engaging him in conversation in every possible way – he’d nearly think she was doing it on purpose…just to check his gag reflex… - Potter kept on silently staring at him – in such an ominous sort of way that days later Draco could still feel those green eyes, similar in colour to a fresh-pickled toad, burn through his skin – and Granger, well Granger proved to be the only valuable conversationalist present – not that Draco would admit to that aloud -.

Though entirely too radical on certain topics in his opinion - *cough* pureblood customs *cough* - she made a wonderful argument on fairly every subject they entertained, from the freedom of elves to the archaic Hogwarts curriculum. Nevertheless, Draco was more than pleased when breakfast ended and each went their own way, except for Draco and Granger who apparently shared an interest in arithmancy – which came as no surprise really… -. They walked to class together, sat together, talked together, … - Merlin’s balls he had even started calling her Hermione for Salazar’s sake! -.

 

Later that evening, after dinner – which was luckily enough spend apart, he’d had about enough of bad table manners for one day, thank you very much -, Draco left Pansy in their shared room to study – Pansy, being the massive prick that she is, had been singing and dancing to old muggle bands, Blaise’s influence I’m afraid… -. He settled himself in one of the couches in their shared common room – all students of their year shared one common room – when the Golden Trio walked in – of, bloody, course, he wasn’t allowed a single moment of peace was he? -.

“Diane!” Granger happily exclaimed as she made her way to the fauteuil opposite Draco and sat herself down, followed by her tall and lanky boyfriend who took place on the fauteuil’s armrest. Which of course left only one available seat open for the Boy Who Lived, didn’t it? Potter shuffled over to Draco and let himself fall on the seat next to him. Draco’s immediate reaction was to scoot closer to the armrest, away from the other boy, but by doing so he’d make himself suspicious and so he stayed put. His leg, dressed in nothing but the soft thin silken fabric of his nightgown, on a bare few centimetres of Potter’s. Draco shifted his gaze away from Granger, back to his book when he suddenly felt someone’s looming presence, hanging over his shoulder.

“What are you studying?” Draco felt the words before he heard them, grazing the sensitive skin of his neck – what the fuck?! -, a shiver rolling down his spine. He refused to look up and kept his gaze focused on the book in front of him – he didn’t even know what subject’s it was -.

“Something magical,” Draco replied, his voice low, nearly bordering on manly. Potter chuckled before he pulled back.

“Quelle surprise,” he whispered in reply. Draco looked up at the man beside him but he had already opened his study books and seemed so immersed in it that Draco daren’t disturb him.

Odd… he could’ve sworn Potter didn’t know any French…


End file.
